I'll Be Coming Home Again To You, Love
by moosals
Summary: We weren't the only ones living in our little cottage. We were sharing our bedroom with a ghost, and she had a secret hidden under the floorboards.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer :** Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Author's Note :** If you've read Grass Is Always Greener, then you will recognise the opening paragraphs of this story. For those that haven't (and there is no need to), Bella and Edward are living with their baby daughter in a small cottage, set in the grounds of a larger house owned by his parents.

This is a short story with short chapters, all uploaded and ready to post.

* * *

 **one**

Edward loved to be able to wander off into the forest whenever the mood took him and usually came home with new drawings in his sketchbook and a bag full of greens or chanterelles for our dinner. After our daughter was born, he would take her with him, strapped to his chest, so that I could either rest or write.

It was on one such occasion that I realised we weren't the only ones living in our cottage. As I sat at my bureau, looking out of the window and waiting for inspiration to strike, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head fractionally to the right, just enough to witness the apparition of a young woman in a long, grey dress kneeling on the floor. She used her fingernails to raise a loose floorboard and pulled out a bundle of letters tied with a brown, satin ribbon and promptly vanished.

For a moment, I sat in a daze, staring into space. I couldn't quite believe what I had seen, but before I knew it, I was walking across the room and crouching down beside the exact same floorboard the ghost had raised.

I studied the plank of wood. It was somewhat shorter than the surrounding boards, it's edges chipped and dented, but it stood out from all the others, and that had me wondering how it was that Edward and I had not noticed it before.

Placing my left hand on the floor for balance, I reached out with my right and attempted to lift one end of the board. I felt something sharp pierce the tip of one of my fingers right under the nail and withdrew my hand abruptly. Wincing, I eased the splinter of wood out with my teeth, spat it to one side and sucked my finger into my mouth. The coppery taste of blood on my tongue had me feeling a little nauseous.

As I was beginning my second attempt, the front door slammed shut downstairs, thus halting any further exploration. I stood up, brushed myself down and then crossed the room to tidy my things away and close the wooden flap of my bureau.

Edward was calling for me, his voice getting gradually louder as his socked feet padded up the wooden stairs. He poked his head around the bedroom door. "Bella? We've got mushrooms for dinner!"

His face displayed the same boyish excitement that always accompanied a successful forage in the forest, and I found him totally irresistible. A cheerful gurgle drew my attention to our daughter, still strapped to her father's chest, her chubby little legs waggling vigorously.

I stepped forward to kiss the top of her head and breathe in her scent before placing my mouth on Edward's full lips. His arms wound around me, pulling me in closer so our daughter was sandwiched between us. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers working their way into his hair, and soon all thoughts of the ghost and her letters had left my mind.

When our daughter squealed, we broke apart and stared into each other's eyes, grinning stupidly before we headed downstairs to the kitchen to cook our dinner.

...

The next afternoon, as I sat at my bureau doodling in a notebook reserved specifically for that purpose, the ghost in the long, grey dress appeared to me again. This time, I turned toward her fully and watched carefully as the scene played out in front of me, exactly as it had the day before.

Once the woman had disappeared, I skirted the room, eyeing the loose floorboard. My sore finger was still throbbing a little from the splinter. Eventually, I knelt down beside the bed, and with the fingernails of both hands, tentatively lifted one end of the short plank of polished wood. There underneath it, in a small well in the floor, was a dust covered bundle of letters tied with a faded brown, satin ribbon.

In truth, while I had hoped, I hadn't really expected to find anything, so I was a little surprised by my discovery. I sat back on my heels for a minute, my eyes flitting back and forth between the loosened floorboard and the well in the floor until I gave in to temptation and retrieved the letters from their hiding place.

I perched on the edge of the bed and blew off the dust before placing the letters on my lap. With forefingers and thumbs, I slowly pulled at the two ends of the ribbon until the bow was unravelled, watching as the ribbon fell from my fingers to drape over my thighs.

Only then did I dare to read the name on the uppermost envelope, the name that had, just a second ago, been covered by loops of satin ribbon, the name that now had me gasping in horror: Isabella Swan.


	2. Chapter 2

**two**

There were seven envelopes in the bundle, all yellowed and worn as if they had been handled many a time and then hidden away for a countless number of years. The paper was thick and slightly rough in texture, and the handwriting on it displayed the kind of elegance only achieved with a good fountain pen and ink.

I lifted the uppermost envelope and turned it over, gingerly raising the flap to ease the letter out. The quality of the letter paper matched that of the envelope. It was neatly folded into three, so I opened it out flat, smoothed out the creases and began to read.

…

 _April_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _I could not go through with it. I could not marry her. Not when I love you._

 _And how I love you and have loved you since as long as I can remember. There has not been a single day in my life since we met that you have not been a part of in some way, until now._

 _We grew up together, you and I, the son of a wealthy man and the daughter of his groundsman, and yet your father means as much to me as my own, sometimes more._

 _I remember you arriving with your father to live in the cottage on the edge of our land. You held on tightly to your father's hand when I approached you and kept your gaze to the ground. I asked where your mother was, and your father told me she had gone to heaven the day you were born. Then you looked up and stared at me with those big, brown eyes, and I felt the strongest urge to protect you to the very end of my existence._

 _The first time you took my hand in yours, we were five and seven. Do you remember how you led me to sit under a tree and asked me to read to you? You pointed at the words as I read them, and before long, you were reading them back to me._

 _On your sixth birthday, your father gave you a pen, some ink and an old journal. You asked me to teach you how to write. You learned quickly, because you never stopped practicing what I had taught you. Soon you were reading me the stories you had written about the adventures of a boy and a girl living together in the forest._

 _I miss your voice already. This is not an adventure without you by my side, and I do not have a basket of food, so lovingly prepared by your sweet self, to satisfy my hunger. Instead, I am putting the skills your father taught me to good use. I have been fishing and hunting, and I am cooking my prey over a campfire that I built myself._

 _I am glad that you cannot see me, for I suspect I look quite unsightly, but I promise I am keeping as clean as I can by washing in the river. Do you think you could you love me with a beard?_

 _How did my parents take my sudden departure? I imagine I left behind a mess. That girl, the one my parents wished for me to marry, was both vapid and vain. She did not like to read or write, or take long walks in the forest. She could not even tell a blade of grass from a leaf. And she stank of perfume and powder. It made me nauseous._

 _My mother kept pointing out her beauty, the unusual tones of red in her long, blonde hair and the pretty shade of blue in her eyes. My father complimented her figure and admired her child bearing hips._

 _But I could only see you and the look on your face when I told you what was intended for my future._

 _It is you that I want, Isabella. My heart and mind, and if I might be so bold, my body, crave only you. Will you still have me as we promised each other in our meadow?_

 _Tomorrow I shall journey to the city and find myself some employment. I am good with numbers, and your father said I have a good eye and a steady hand. Perhaps I could learn a trade, for if I am to support you as my wife, I must make a living._

 _I pray that you will look in our secret place and find this letter and that you reply to me before I have to leave._

 _Yours,_

 _Edward Masen_

...

I sat for a minute, lost in thought, imagining myself as Isabella and my Edward as Edward Masen. I knew what it was like to be left behind by the man I loved, and I knew the toll it had taken on both of us, but these circumstances were a world away from ours.

Our little cottage was full of nooks and crannies, and seeing as I had discovered one such hiding place, I felt sure there must be others. But was their secret place somewhere within these four walls or outside in the forest?

At some point, I'd have to asked my father about our family tree because I wasn't aware of there being another Swan family in the area.

Hearing Edward stomping the mud off his boots downstairs, I quickly returned the letter to its envelope, tied the ribbon neatly around the stack and put it back in place under the loose floorboard.


	3. Chapter 3

**three**

Our late Summer break was almost over. The temperature began to drop and the weather turned for the worse. It rained heavily for the next few days, so my little family stayed warm and dry indoors.

Edward and I played with our daughter on the living room floor in front of an open fire, and when she slept, we played with each other.

Edward had secured a fortnight's work teaching observational drawing at the local high school, so come the following Monday, I was alone again with our daughter, but not quite free to do as I pleased. The majority of her nap times were filled with answering niggling emails from our publisher and doing mundane household chores.

When I eventually found time to go back to the hidden letters, almost three whole weeks had passed.

...

 _June_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _Thank you for sending me on my way with such words that fill me with hope and joy. I have been keeping your letter close to my heart at all times._

 _Good news, my love! I have found employment in the office of one of the larger mills in Port Angeles. The owner is a decent man who knows of my circumstances. He has let me a one bedroom cottage on his land in lieu of part of my salary. Once we are married, we shall live there together, and if you wish, you could take a position as nanny to the children, for his wife is expecting their third child._

 _I came back to see you this evening and to ask your father for your hand, but the cottage was shrouded in darkness. There was not even the slightest plume of smoke coming from the chimney, so I climbed our tree to peer in through your window, but you were not there._

 _The main house showed no sign of life either, not that I would have wanted to see my parents, but I had hoped to maybe find you there._

 _Keeping close to the edge of the forest, I wandered into town until I heard some old men on a porch mentioning your father's name. I took a chance that they would not recognise me and asked them what had occurred. My knees buckled at what they had to say._

 _They told me that your father is dead, and that he was brutally murdered in the forest. They described in detail the state of his body when he was discovered and the unusual marks on his neck and wrists. Then they said he was not the first to be found in that way in the last month._

 _Oh, Isabella, where are you? I pray that you are safe and wish with all my heart that I could be with you._

 _I shall try to stay close by, but something strange is happening in the forest. I cannot hear a single creature, other than myself. The silence is most unnerving, and yet I feel sure that I am being watched._

 _With all my love,_

 _Edward_

…

As I read the second half of Edward Masen's letter, my skin began to prickle all over. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and then my heart almost stopped completely when I heard a piercing scream coming from my daughter's bedroom.

I dashed across the landing as fast as I could, my socked feet skidding dangerously on the wooden floor, and picked up my baby to try and soothe her. I cradled her to my chest, wiped away her hot tears with my sleeve and then whispered soft words to her as I kissed her hot little cheeks.

A tapping noise on the window had me whirling around to stare wide eyed at the tree which stood just outside the cottage. Edward had been promising to cut those branches back since before the rain set in. I'd have to remind him about it when he came home.

Despite the warmth of the little bundle in my arms, I felt chilled to the bone. I found my slippers and carried my daughter downstairs, laying her on the rug as I set about starting a fire. She continued to whimper and sniffle while I cuddled with her on the couch. Neither of us could settle, even after her father came home.


	4. Chapter 4

**four**

My poor daughter had developed an ear infection. She needed to be nursed and held continually for days while a course of antibiotics did their work.

One afternoon, Esme dropped in for a visit and took pity on me. She packed a bag, scooped up her granddaughter and left for the main house, giving me a chance to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but I didn't go to sleep straight away. As soon as I entered the bedroom, I was drawn to the secret hiding place. I sat down on the floor with my back to the bed and raised the loose floorboard with my fingernails once more, pulling out the letters to read the third.

...

 _October_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _Please forgive me, I beg you. I am sorry to have been away from you for so long after I promised you so much._

 _Keeping myself at a such a distance has been tortuous, but I had no choice other than to do just that. Even now, I fear I risk too much by being this close to the one I cherish most._

 _Something about me has changed, something so inconceivable that I cannot tell you, cannot explain. I am no longer the man you love, at least not on the outside. I can barely stand to look at myself. I am but a cold facsimile of Edward Masen, a deadly incarnation, but my heart, my mind and the very depths of my soul still crave for the woman I love._

 _And you, Isabella, you call to me more now than you ever did._

 _I watched you from the tree outside my childhood bedroom window. I stilled my breath and watched you sleeping in my bed. Oh, how I wish I could have held you in my arms when you screamed for me in your sleep. How I wish it had been me comforting you and not my mother._

 _Whilst I am grateful to my parents for taking you into their home to grieve for your father, I am angry with them, too. Their kindness and consideration comes far too late for either of us._

 _As I sat in that tree, I could hear my father talking to my mother whilst she held you. Though his tone was lowered, I could make out every last word._

 _He said that they should never have forced me into a marriage of convenience. He said that her meddling and social climbing had ruined his family and yours, and that your father would never have been murdered had he not found signs of my camp in the forest and kept on searching for me. He said that my place was at home with my family, and that I should be by your side in your bereavement._

 _And I am here, but I cannot be with you, not in the way I want to be. Not yet. I am not ready._

 _With all the love I have left in my cold dead heart,_

 _Edward_

…

The words on the letter were smudged and smeared, presumably from Isabella's tears.

I could not for the life of me understand what had become of Edward Masen, or why he could not return to marry his beloved. The only conclusion I could draw was that he must have gotten involved in something criminal in the city and was keeping his distance in order to protect her.

Before exhaustion took over, I packed everything away again and clambered onto my bed, burying my face in Edward's pillow. I breathed in the scent which told me he was here, living with me, and not far away in England as he had been for some months in the early part of our relationship. I might have found myself in many ways during his absence, but my life was far richer for having him by my side.

Despite a shaft of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover and brightening the room, sleep soon overcame me.


	5. Chapter 5

**five**

When I awoke with a start, hours later, it was to a darkened room. The faintest hint of moonlight was coming from behind the clouds, causing the strangest of shadows on the wall opposite the window. I tried to make out the shape, much as one does when lying on the grass on summer's day, looking up at the clouds. I decided it looked very much like a man crouching on the branch of a tree.

Shuddering, I rolled over toward my nightstand to turn on the lamp, and as I did so, my face came into contact with a sheet of thick paper laying on my pillow.

Once the light was on, I took in the pencil drawing that Edward had made on a sheet of paper torn from his sketchbook. It was of me sleeping with my daughter tucked in beside me. I turned the paper over and read Edward's note telling me where they were.

Tucked away in the top shelf our wardrobe, I had a shoebox full of similar beautifully illustrated notes and letters. In amongst them was the paper aeroplane that Edward had flown my way, minutes before we'd declared our true feelings to each other, the day before he'd left for London.

I wandered into the bathroom to wash my face and hands, and comb my hair through, and then hovered on the tiny landing at the top of the stairs. Should I join Edward and our daughter at his parents' house or pretend to be asleep just a little longer and read another letter from Edward Masen?

I stepped back into the bedroom.

...

 _March_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _Do you know what it is like to watch the one you love with another, to see her smile at him and laugh as he teases her, to notice how her eyes wander up and down his forearms as he chops wood in the yard, and to see her fidget and squirm in her seat whilst doing so?_

 _Be warned, my love, my parents' new groundsman is not what he seems. His Texan charm does not fool me. He is showing entirely too much interest in you, and you should not place your trust in him._

 _In his mind, he has one hand inside your dress, touching your breast, and the other is up under your skirts, touching where only a husband should be allowed to touch._

 _Would that I could be your husband. Would that I could touch you so freely, so easily, without risking your very existence._

 _Why are you not waiting for me, Isabella? I will be coming home to you._

 _I love you,_

 _Edward_

…

My stomach was rumbling, so I resisted the temptation to read another letter. I fetched a flashlight from the top drawer of the kitchen dresser, wrapped myself up in my coat, pulled on my boots and made my way over to Carlisle and Esme's house for supper.

With the floor length curtains still wide open, I could see the lights on in the living room, and as I got closer, Edward laying on the floor with his dad and our daughter. I stopped to watch the three of them, turning off the flashlight to hide my presence.

The surrounding forest was unusually quiet for the time of year. Apart from my breathing and the drip, drip, drip of rainwater coming off the trees from an earlier downpour, there was not one single sound to be heard.

Some water dropped onto my forehead and ran down my nose and onto my chin. I wiped it away and looked up into the boughs of the tree under which I was standing. The thick branches stretched out toward a window on the second floor of the house, the window of the bedroom that might have been Edward's had this been his childhood home.

Something, a large bird perhaps, must have been perched in the tree above me, just out of sight, and it must have moved because I was suddenly showered with water. I switched the flashlight back on and hurried across the lawn to the house, letting myself in through the backdoor.


	6. Chapter 6

**six**

The next morning, I fastened my daughter into her car seat and drove over to my dad's house. He had been rummaging in his attic for me and had found various boxes of papers and books that had once been in the attic of my grandparents' house.

While Dad sat in the recliner blowing raspberries on his granddaughter's tummy, I dug through the boxes, hoping to find a connection between our family and the Isabella Swan of the letters.

Underneath papers, letters and old ledgers, I eventually found an old, brown leather bound bible. The embossed gold lettering on the spine had all but worn away, and the edges and corners of the book were tattered and frayed.

After gathering up my dad's many fishing magazines and sticking them at one end to make some space, I laid the bible down carefully on the glass top of the coffee table and opened it.

There was nothing written or printed on the inside front cover or the first few pages, so I turned to the back of the book where there are often several blank pages to be found. Luck was on my side. In copperplate handwriting, but not all of the same hand, there was line after line detailing the names and dates of Swan family members, spanning almost two centuries. I recognized my grandfather's writing on the most recent entries where he had added my parents' names and also mine.

Tracing back several generations before my dad, I noticed that each marriage had produced a single, surviving son until I reached an entry where there had been two. The elder of the two brothers, Charles Swan (I kid you not) was listed without any reference to a wife but with a daughter: Isabella.

Both their dates of birth had been entered, but no record had been made of either having passed away. Perhaps the absence of a wife and legal mother for his daughter had ostracised Charles from his family.

…

After making and eating lunch with my dad, I drove home to put my daughter down for a nap. I then rushed to my bedroom to read the next letter.

...

 _April_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _It has been a year since I first left my home to try and make a life for us, and despite my correspondence, despite knowing how much I long for you, you seem to have forgotten that I exist._

 _I looked today for a reply from you, but there is none. You have retrieved my last letter, but you have not answered it._

 _I heard you talking with the groundsman as he held your hand in my mother's arbour. I saw him rub his thumb over your knuckles whilst he tucked a curl behind your ear. I saw him steal a kiss from your lips and I heard the words you whispered to him when your lips brushed against his cheek._

 _My cold, dead heart shattered into a million pieces. Did you hear them fall?_

 _You cannot possibly love him! You are mine, Isabella! You promised yourself to me._

 _Please, I beg of you, wait for me. Love me._

 _I am almost ready to come for you. I just need a little more time._

 _Remember I love you,_

 _Edward_

…

The way in which Edward Masen kept observing Isabella from afar was disquieting to say the least, and yet, at the same time, I found myself feeling deeply sorry for him.

Why had she not replied to his previous letter? Was it possible that someone else had discovered their secret hiding place and taken the letter before she'd seen it? But then, if she hadn't retrieved it, why would it be tied together with all the others underneath the floorboards?

I glanced at my watch. It was almost three o'clock and Edward would be returning from his visit to our literary agent, Garrett, in Tacoma soon, with some drawings that needed reworking. I tidied the letters away, checked on our sleeping daughter and went down to get ready to greet him.

Edward was always exceptionally attentive whenever he came back from a trip. Hopefully, a certain little someone would sleep long enough for me to enjoy him fully.


	7. Chapter 7

**seven**

It was an unusually sunny and warm Saturday, but I had to stay indoors working through some edits from our publisher. Edward strapped our daughter to his chest and walked over to his parents' house for a pancake breakfast, promising to come back later with a picnic lunch.

He still hadn't returned by the time I'd finished working. Naturally, my eyes strayed toward the loose floorboard which had been taunting me all morning. I checked the time, cleared away my things and tiptoed guiltily across the room.

…

 _May_

 _Isabella,_

 _Why did you make me do it? I have restricted my diet to animals for nearly a year, but now everything has changed and I cannot risk being close to you anymore. My eyes are red, and the thirst for your blood is beyond irresistible._

 _I saw you with him in our meadow. Our meadow, Isabella! Yours and mine!_

 _He unbuttoned your blouse and exposed your chest to the sun and to me, and I have never known such desire._

 _He lifted your skirts and lowered his pants, and you, you welcomed him into your body. I have never known such anguish._

 _You cried out his name, not mine. You kissed his lips, not mine. And you took his seed, when it should have been mine. And when you had both finished, you raised your left hand to caress his face, and the light in your eyes was not enough to keep me from seeing the glistening band of gold metal on your ring finger._

 _He should never have married you; your hand was mine. He should never have touched you; your innocence was mine. All this time I have been saving myself for you. Why did you not wait for me?_

 _I am desolate and heartbroken and so incredibly thirsty that I shall have to go far away from here._

 _But I will not be away so long this time, I promise. I will recover myself once more, and then I will be coming home again to you, my love._

 _Yours,_

 _Edward_

…

"Bella? Are you ready?" Edward called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes," I said, shakily. "Be down in a minute."

I quickly wrapped the brown ribbon round and around the letters, tucked them back into their hiding place and got myself ready for a walk in the forest with my family.

…

Edward crawled up my body until I was lying flat on my back on the woollen blanket, with him hovering over me.

"I love you," he said just before he kissed me.

"Mmm"

He pushed his groin against mine, and instinctively, I wound my legs around his thighs. I could feel him getting more and more excited as his hand slipped under my top and eased down the fabric of one bra cup. He caressed my bare breast, squeezing and pinching my nipple.

"Oh!"

"This would be so much easier with a button down shirt," he mumbled as he sucked on the skin at the base of my throat.

"Edward," I whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Someone might see us."

"Hasn't worried you before." He ran his nose along the scooped neckline of my top.

"Someone is right beside us."

He glanced at our daughter. "Someone is asleep," he said, pressing his hips more firmly against mine. "I wish you were wearing a skirt."

I frowned up at him. "You know I don't wear skirts."

"I know, but if you were, I could just hitch it up, pull down my pants and..."

"You've never said anything before." Did he not like the way I dressed? I thought he liked my ass in these jeans.

He sighed and rolled off to one side. I turned my head to find him watching me and wondered if my face was showing the hurt I was starting to feel. But then he smiled and winked and said, "You've always been too dazzled by me to keep your clothes on before."

I giggled. "Afraid you're losing your touch, eh, Cullen?"

"A little bit," he said, sniggering.

I looked down the length of his body, my eyes drawn to the bulge in his pants. "Sorry," I said. "I'll make it up to you tonight when we're alone."

…

As we walked back toward our cottage, Edward stopped me by putting his hand on my shoulder. He looked up.

"What is it?" I asked, following his gaze.

"Have you noticed how quiet the forest has been recently?" he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**eight**

The next couple of weeks proved to be busy for both Edward and I, and we were very lucky that our daughter had three grandparents, all willing and able to share in her childcare.

Edward had accepted three mural commissions in homes in the Portland area. Emmett had managed to schedule them back to back, in order to make the trip worthwhile, and he had done all of the preparatory work.

After much preparation of my own, I travelled to Tacoma to visit our literary agent, Garrett. My friend, Alice, and I were keen to present a project to him that we'd been working on for quite some time, using her photography and my words. Garrett and his fiancé, Katrina, had offered to put us both up for the weekend, so Alice flew into SeaTac, hired a car and joined me there.

The only letters I managed to read during those two weeks were from Edward Cullen, and I took great delight in being able to reply to them, care of Emmett and Rosalie's address.

On the afternoon of Edward's return, and while our daughter was sleeping in her cot, I had another visit from our resident ghost, only this visitation lasted a little longer than any of the previous ones.

Rooted to the spot, I watched as she remained kneeling on the floor, reading each and every letter. As she read the last, she retrieved a white lace handkerchief from the cuff of her long, grey dress and dabbed at the tears flowing from her eyes. Then, very slowly, she faded away into nothing.

Dashing across the room, I threw myself down on my knees and raised the floorboard, but when I pulled out the bundle to fetch the last letter, my breath caught in my throat.

The brown, satin ribbon was, as always, tied around the letters like a parcel string with a bow, but I distinctly remembered not having had the time to tie it like that when I'd put them back last.

…

 _June_

 _Dear Isabella,_

 _My life, such as it is, is not worth living. I have finally destroyed the one good piece of it I had left._

 _The blood, your blood, was too much. All it took was a simple paper cut on the edge of an envelope, and I could no longer resist you._

 _And once I had started, I could not stop._

 _Now I have fully become the very demon I once despised._

 _Another girl has taken your place in the cottage. She has long, brown hair, just like you, deep, brown, murky pools for eyes, just like yours, and her scent, Isabella, is so very delicious._

 _Her name is Angela, but how can she be my angel when my angel should be you? Do you watch over me, now that you are gone?_

 _I will always be in love with you, my Isabella._

 _Yours,_

 _Edward_

…

I had tears in my eyes as I re-tied the ribbon around the letters and put them back in the well in the floor. My tears landed with a splash on the floorboard as I set it back in place.

Snatching up a tissue from the box on my nightstand, I went downstairs to make a start on dinner before my daughter woke up. But try as I might, I couldn't shake off what I'd read in that letter or the vision of the crying woman that I had always presumed to be Isabella Swan.


	9. Chapter 9

**nine**

A few days later, while Edward and our daughter were spending the afternoon with his parents, I went upstairs to retrieve the letters from their hiding place once more. It was high time I made copies of them to use in a story.

I sat down at my bureau and pulled down the flap, placing the bundle to one side while I set up my iPad and keyboard. As was often the way, I got sidetracked for a few minutes, noticing some new emails, and as I proofread my response to the last one, I reached out blindly for the letters and set them in front of me

Still reading, I fumbled for the loose ends of the ribbon, and finally having found them, I looked down. The ribbon was undone for a mere second before I realised something was different. There were no longer seven letters in the bundle, there were eight.

The eighth envelope was much cleaner than the rest, in fact it looked almost new, and it was addressed simply to "Bella." My hands started to shake, but I couldn't stop myself from pushing a finger under the corner of the flap and easing it along the sealed edge until the envelope was open.

The paper inside was crisp and white and silky smooth, but the words on the page were not written in Edward Masen's usual blue ink. Though the writing was most certainly of the same hand, this letter was written in blood red, and it seemed as if Edward Masen's pen had been leaking toward the end, for there were splatters of red underneath his signature.

It was a foolish thing to do, but once again, I had no self restraint. I bent my head down and touched the very tip of my tongue to the largest splodge of ink. My stomach lurched as I started to read.

...

 _October 2015_

 _Bella,_

 _Now that you have opened this letter, your life is mine._

 _Many have come before you, and many more will come after._

 _Prepare for me, my love. I am coming home to you._

 _Edward Masen_

…

"What are you doing?"

I shrieked as Edward's voice broke through the fear clouding my mind. In my haste to stand, I pushed my chair back with a little more force than necessary. I heard it clatter to the floor behind me.

"I... I found these under a loose floorboard," I said, looking down at the letters that were now scattered over the flap of my bureau.

"How did you find them?" he said, his hand reaching around me to take the eighth letter from my trembling hands.

"Don't! Don't touch it!" I said, tears trickling down my face.

As I felt Edward's arms wrap around me, I allowed the letter to fall from my grasp. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I turned around and buried my face in his chest, crying with relief.

His clothes felt cold from his walk between his parents' house and our cottage, and that cold seemed to have permeated his whole body.

"Hush," he said, as he pressed his icy lips to the side of my neck. "Hush, Isabella. I have come home to you."

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 **Author's Note:**

Thank you once again for reading my story and sharing your thoughts with me.

You may wish to thank Mortissues for asking (or was it telling?) me to write the tale of the cottage ghost, and you can do that by reading her creepy horror story, _Experiment Me This._ It's listed in my Favourites.


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